


Aesthetic

by silentsoundy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Plague Doctor - Freeform, mercykill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 15:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsoundy/pseuds/silentsoundy
Summary: [a one-off drabble featuring Mercy and Plague Doctor Reaper]





	Aesthetic

_The tears feel cold running down her cheeks, staining pale skin with saline chemical trails of remorse and released stress.  It feels good.  So good.  As good and as cool as the light caress of a familiar touch slithers from dip of earlobe along the side of her neck to grace slip of shoulder._

_And she stands there with her back to him, unable to protest, to move save to breath in shallow yet steady hitching gulps, eyes wide in the gloom while the rustle of fallen clothes pool about their feet._

_Chloroform and antiseptic, formaldehyde and honey.  His breath is warm washing over the back of her neck, a thousand tendrils of fingering caresses that weave through wisps of baby hair rising with a shiver._

_She can refuse but she won’t.  She can deny him, but she won’t.  She can’t._

Are you cold, Angela?

_The blond shakes her head once in a lethargic fog of anxious need, murmuring a plea to see his face instead of having to stare down at the garish mockery of an archaic mask resting on the dresser before her._

You know you don’t want that.  Not really.  You already know the results of your work, sweetheart.

_The grin drips in every inflection made by that ravaged voice and she can feel it spread across disfigured features as lips hush words she’s been aching to hear._

_Anything from him.  Everything.  Platitudes and abuse from him._

_Whatever will make it all right again._

_Whatever will make them whole again._

_Whatever it’ll take to drain the ache from her heart caused by what she did to him._

_A tepid hand to press a flattened, rough palm across her belly to dip below her navel.  Another to cup and lift and squeeze her right breast with such mindful adoration._

_Familiar words and touches and smells, a melange of her making in this monster of a man._

We make such a wonderful team, you and I, Angela.  Now and even before Zurich.

But now.

Now your Plague Doctor compliments the aesthetic.


End file.
